The bull-necked man who’d been standing on Michael’s right grabbed his shoulder and blocked the exit.
“What is this?” Michael said, pushing the man’s hand away.
“We want a word with you,” said the other man, wheezing with each breath.
Michael turned to face him. This one was a lot older—maybe in his sixties—and much thinner. While his right eye was looking directly at Michael, his left eye, partly obscured by a loose flap of skin, seemed angled away and didn’t move. It looked artificial, maybe glass.
“But we can’t do it here.”
“I don’t know who you think I am. You must be mistaking me for someone else.”
Glass Eye leaned into Michael’s face, his breath reeking of tobacco. “There’s no mistake. We saw you in Chicago. Remember?”
“Chicago? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, right.” Glass Eye thrust a scrap of paper into Michael’s hand. “We can’t talk here. Meet us there in an hour.”
He pushed past Michael, and both men walked out of the restroom. Michael propped his back against the white tiled wall next to the hand dryers, his head spinning. Exactly what did these men know about him, and how long had they been following him? Were they police officers of some kind? They couldn’t be. If they were, they would have said so. Besides, they looked like a couple of thugs in cheap suits.
The door swung open, and Michael recoiled.
“Are you okay?” asked Jordy, entering the room.
Michael nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You don’t look it.”
“Honest. I’m fine. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.” Michael patted his stomach. “I’ll see you back in the classroom.”
Michael’s Lexus was parked in the college car park, and he sat inside, staring at the piece of paper Glass Eye had rammed into his hand an hour earlier. The restaurant name scribbled on it was a well-known pizza joint only a couple of miles away in a Westport suburb. Why should he go? He owed them nothing. He started the car, pulled out into the road, and headed toward home. He’d be there in ten minutes. With a bit of luck, his daughters would still be awake and he’d be able to read to them before they fell asleep.
A mile down the road, he swung the vehicle around and headed in the direction of the restaurant. If the two men had managed to trace him to Chicago and now to his hometown, they must have been following him for some time. In that case, in all likelihood, they knew where he lived, and he couldn’t take the risk of them turning up there. Not when he didn’t know who they were or what they might have on him. While he didn’t like it, it made sense to meet them now on neutral ground, where he’d have more control of the situation.
He called Caroline on the hands-free. “I’m going to be delayed a few minutes,” he said when she picked up the phone.
“Okay. Have you eaten?”
“No, but don’t worry about me. I’m not that hungry.”
“I’ll make some pasta when you get home.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When Michael pulled up outside Papa Gino’s pizza restaurant, he tried to spot the men inside, but they were nowhere near the misted-up front window. Twice he walked by the building, but still he couldn’t see them. If they weren’t police officers, then who were they? Were they dangerous? At least the place was busy so he’d have plenty of witnesses if things got heavy. As he walked in, the men were sitting at the back of the dining room. They saw him first and waved to attract his attention.
“Where the fuck have you been?” asked Glass Eye when Michael slid into the booth next to Bull Neck. It was a tight squeeze, and the moron made no attempt to move over to make room. When he grabbed his half-empty glass of beer, he revealed a Tag Heuer sports wristwatch with a faux crocodile strap. There were faded letters tattooed on his knuckles, but Michael struggled to read them upside down.
“You’re lucky I came at all.” Michael was now almost certain these guys were not cops or FBI. “This had better be good.”
Glass Eye took a large bite out of his pepperoni pizza and pointed to the menu. “You eaten?”
“I’m not hungry. It’s not like we’re friends or anything. Just tell me what you want.”
“We’d have told you in Chicago if you’d stayed around long enough.”
“I haven’t been to that city in years.”
“Cut the bullshit. We know it was you.”
Michael glanced at his watch. “I’ll give you two minutes before I’m out of here.”
Bull Neck chortled and then finished his beer in one swallow.
Glass Eye put his pizza down. “We’re in the market for a good lawyer and we hear you’re one of the best.”
Michael stopped himself from blurting out the first words that sprang to mind and inhaled a deep draw of air. It was clear these men were a couple of crooks. What was this charade about looking for a lawyer?
“I have a full client list.” He stood up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Sit down,” Bull Neck said, grabbing Michael’s arm with his left hand.
A woman on the table of four opposite looked at them and frowned. Michael sat down. The last thing he wanted was to create a scene in a crowded restaurant in the town where he lived; someone in here might recognize him. He’d have to find another way to brush these guys off.
“You’re well-known to our employer,” said Glass Eye. “He needs you to do some work for him.”
“I know a lot of people, but I can’t work with all of them. There are plenty of other lawyers out there.”
Glass Eye grimaced. “He wants you.”
The woman opposite was still watching them and now looked as if she suspected something was going on. If he was going to avoid this situation turning nasty, Michael figured he’d need to humor the men, at least for a few moments. “Who is it you work for?”
“James Grannis.”
Michael thought about the name. “Doesn’t mean anything to me. As I told you earlier, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”
“He runs the Grannis Hedge Fund in New York City.”
Michael shook his head no. “Still doesn’t help. I don’t know him.”
“Well, he knows you, for sure. He says you and he go back a very long way.”
“I don’t know him. Okay?”
“He’s not a man to make mistakes.”
“Well, he’s wrong this time. I don’t know what else to say.”
Glass Eye leaned over the table as far as he could and lowered his voice. “He said he was real sorry to hear about your mother.”
A chill cut through Michael’s veins. What did this have to do with his mother? “Who are you people?”
“Look, Mr. Grannis wants a meeting to discuss some business. I’m sure he’ll clear up any confusion when you meet.”
Every instinct Michael had was telling him to get out of here and have nothing to do with these men, whoever they were. But if he walked out now, there was no doubt they would track him down again. After all, if they’d already followed him to Chicago, they weren’t going to give up that easily. And he couldn’t afford to have them turn up at his home and start mentioning Chicago and his mother to Caroline. Sooner or later, he’d have to deal with them and their boss, James Grannis.
“Okay.” Michael raised his right palm. “I’ll agree to a short meeting with him.”
“That’s the right answer.”
“It’s just a meeting. You can tell him I’m not looking for any new clients.”
“We hear you.”
“Where do I meet him?”
“We’ll let you know. We know where to find you.”
“Are we done?”
“For now.”
Michael stood up, half-smiled at the woman on the next table, and walked out.
When he arrived home late, Caroline’s face was a mixture of concern and irritation.
&
nbsp; “Where did you get to?” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Michael dropped his briefcase in the hallway. “A couple of people wanted a quiet word after class.” That was accurate, but not the whole truth.
“You have to know where to draw the line with your students.”
“I know. Are the girls still awake?”
“They tried, but fell asleep half an hour ago.” Caroline smiled. “You look tired.”
“It’s been a tough day,” he said, following her into the kitchen. The air was filled with the aroma of pasta sauce.
“I’ll get the penne on.”
“Actually, I’m not that hungry. Can we keep the sauce until tomorrow?”
Caroline hugged him. “Sure. Go and get changed and sit down for half an hour. You don’t look very well.”
Michael rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“You need some rest. Big day tomorrow, remember?”
“I guess I’ve been worried about that, too.”
“Worried?” Caroline cocked her head. “I know my man. He’s going to get it.”
“Yeah.” He kissed her. “But you’re biased.”
With the events of the past two hours, Michael had forgotten he had an important meeting with his senior partner tomorrow. His mind had been occupied by the two men he’d just met and working out what exactly they wanted from him.
Later, as he lay in bed, struggling to sleep, he kept playing over what happened on the day of his mother’s funeral. How had those men known to look for him there? Had they actually followed him to Chicago? That wouldn’t have been easy. No one knew he was going to be there, not even Caroline. And how did this man, James Grannis, claim to know so much about him when they’d never even met? The name meant nothing.
Turning onto his side, sheer terror consumed him, and he stopped breathing.
It has to be him.
There was only one explanation: Grannis had to be Rondell. Who else would know to look for him in Chicago? Who else would mention his mother?
Christ!
Michael had not seen Rondell since they were children. That name had long been buried in his memory. What could he want after all this time? That animal had destroyed Michael’s life once. He would not let that happen again. Not now he’d built a new life—a good life free of the horrors of the past. Rondell belonged back there and he had no right to come back.
Chapter 3
AFTER A SLEEPLESS NIGHT, Michael caught an early train from Westport’s Saugatuck station. Throughout the hour’s commute to New York’s Grand Central, he kept looking around the carriage. Were Rondell’s men still following him? Besides the two he’d met already, how many others did he have tracking his movements?
As he walked along West 48th toward his office block on the north side of Times Square, Michael increased his pace, occasionally glancing over his shoulder without trying to make it obvious. When he emerged from the elevator on the thirtieth floor of his building, he passed a stainless steel sign on the wall: Dudek, Collins, & Hamilton LLP—Attorneys. Michael had joined the mega-firm fresh out of law school eleven years ago, and now he was one of eighteen partners in their burgeoning business transactions and securities department. The firm handled some of Wall Street’s biggest deals and counted four of the Street’s top five investment banks among its prestigious client list.
“There are a couple of urgent messages on the top,” said Rachel, Michael’s PA, handing him a wedge of Post-it notes as he passed her desk. “Oh, and Mr. Jenks wants to see you at four today.”
Art Jenks was the firm’s senior partner. Michael knew all about that meeting.
“Thanks,” he said, forcing a smile. “Any chance of a coffee?”
“Sure.”
He had a busy schedule ahead of him and, with the lack of sleep, he needed something to help. “Make it a strong one, would you?”
Michael made his way to his own office, passing open-plan workstations occupied by a horde of young associates, all of them toiling away at the office twelve to fourteen hours a day, desperate to make partner one day.
As he entered his office, immediately opposite him was a south-facing window, overlooking Broadway. Michael never tired of this view, a daily reminder of how far he’d come from his difficult start in life. He sat in his leather chair, with the window to his right. In front of him was a large, double pedestal, mahogany desk with two framed photographs on top: one of Caroline; the other of him, Caroline, and their two daughters, Hannah and Emily. Behind him were three full-height bookcases, crammed with legal reference books, and along the left wall was a cherry credenza, stacked high with active deal files.
Scanning the telephone messages Rachel had given him, he sorted them into those he needed to deal with right away and those he could leave until later. In truth, he didn’t feel like speaking to anyone today. Rondell kept playing on his mind. What could he want from him after all these years? Whatever he needed, it was bound to be bad news, but there was nothing Michael could do about it if he wanted to keep him and his men from turning up at his home.
The most pressing message was from Amanda Etling, a vice president at Corton Zander, Wall Street’s third largest, but most aggressive, investment bank. He and Etling had done a lot of business together over the years, and he was now her go-to lawyer on her most important deals. As a result, she was, by far, his biggest client.
“Hey. How’s my favorite investment banker?” said Michael, trying his best to sound upbeat when Etling took his call.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said in a slow monotonous tone, as though she was about to yawn.
“Only to my special clients.”
“Clients? I thought I was your only one?”
“Well, I try to fit some others in, but only when you don’t need me.”
“There won’t be much time for them in the next few weeks.”
“Why’s that?”
“I want you to handle an acquisition for us. It’s a biggie.”
“I’m all ears.” He swiveled his chair to look out of the window as he talked.
“One of our clients is a leading mobile telecoms company.”
“Spar Cellular?”
“Right. I knew there was a reason I kept using you. You’re pretty smart.”
“I try. But that’s the only telecoms company you’ve ever mentioned.”
“Don’t spoil it.”
“Should have kept my mouth shut.”
“Anyway, we’ve just struck a deal for them to acquire Collar Telecom.”
“That’ll make them the biggest player by a long way.”
“Hey. You’re getting good at this. You’re wasted as a lawyer.”
“Nice of you to say so.”
“You got enough capacity to handle this one?”
“I’ll make sure we have.”
“Good. Let’s meet this afternoon to go over the details.”
This new potential assignment meant Michael would have to cancel his existing diary commitments, but he never let Etling down. The income she generated for his part of the firm was so significant that she could dictate when and where they met. However, the meeting with Jenks was too important to cancel, but if he could just push it back to, say, five then that ought to work. “Can we go for two o’clock?”
“Good for me. See you here.”
On any other day, Michael would have been punching the air right now. This would be the largest M&A deal he’d won so far. The fee would be measured in the millions and seal his reputation as one of the firm’s up-and-coming rainmakers. But with the specter of his childhood haunting him, he couldn’t get excited, no matter how big the trophy deal.
That afternoon, the professional in him didn’t let it show that his mind was elsewhere during the meeting at Corton Zander. Afterward, Michael made it back to the office by four thirty, with Etling’s deal in the bag.
“You brushed me off for a client,” said Art Jenks, smiling and standing up from behind his desk
. The senior partner’s office was at least four times the size of Michael’s and it sat in the corner of the building, with glass on two sides, allowing views of both Times Square and along West 48th to the Hudson River. He pointed to two sofas next to the south window. “Let’s sit over here.”
“I’m sorry, but it was worth changing my schedule for. We’re about to start our largest deal ever for Corton Zander,” Michael said, sinking into the couch.
“Well done, Michael. Looks like we made the right decision, then.”
Michael angled his head. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Jenks stood up and stretched out his hand. “Congratulations. You’re now an equity partner. You’ve earned it.”
After the meeting, Michael rushed back to his office, closed his door, and called Caroline.
“How did it go?” she asked. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“I didn’t get to see Jenks until a few minutes ago.”
“And?”
“You’re talking to the newest equity partner at Dudek, Collins, & Hamilton.”
“Well, Mr. Hoffman, you deserve it. I’m so proud of you. Do you know that?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, my little equity partner.”
When the call was over, Michael peered out of his window. The sun was fading and the neon lights of Times Square were beginning to stand out against the dark streets below him. Making equity partner in a major New York law firm was something he’d only dreamed of when he’d started out as a lawyer. Now he could give his family everything he never had as a child. They’d never want for anything.
The phone rang on his direct line, startling him. He walked back to his desk to answer it.
“Grannis will see you next Tuesday, three o’clock,” said the voice at the other end of the line.
Michael immediately recognized Glass Eye’s rasping voice. “Where?”
“Here in town. Suite 2160, 26 Cedar Street.”
“I’ll be there.”
Michael placed the receiver down and stared at the photos on his desk. Whatever happened, he was not about to let Rondell ruin their lives.
He closed his eyes. A vivid image flashed into his mind: it was the last time he saw Rondell all those years ago. On a dark, wintry evening, an angry mob surrounded two police cars outside an apartment block. People were swearing and spitting as they began to rock the vehicles from side to side. Rondell, then a ten-year-old child, was sitting alone on the back seat of one of them, glaring at Michael through the car’s side window, his face a mixture of horror and loathing.
Once a Killer Page 2
